Chapter 10: The Show Begins

“Cousin.”

Liu Chuyan was still enjoying herself when suddenly someone pushed the door open and entered. Hearing that voice, she recognized it as Qingmian, the attendant by the old matron’s side.

Qingmian called to her, lifted the curtain and came in. Seeing Liu Chuyan’s startled turn, she curtsied lightly. “Cousin, Madam Zhao has arrived, bringing the fifth young lady of the Zhao family with her. Since Fourth Miss is injured and cannot accompany Miss Zhao, the eldest madam wishes you to keep her company.”

Madam Zhao, Lady Jiang, was Zhao Panyu’s mother—the very one who had sent Liu Chuyan to the bedside of the Lord of Nine Thousand Years. Hearing that she had come, Liu Chuyan’s suppressed indignation surged uncontrollably, and despite trying to restrain herself, she accidentally toppled her embroidery frame.

The maid beside her heard a loud thud and was so startled she didn’t dare even breathe. This cousin had never lost her temper before; what on earth was happening today?

Qingmian, too, was taken aback and stammered, “Cousin, what’s wrong?”

Liu Chuyan turned her head, drew a deep breath, and only after her emotions settled did she reply, “I understand. Let me change my clothes and I’ll go.”

“Very well. I’ll wait at the door.”

Liu Chuyan entered the inner chamber alone, refusing any assistance, and chose a green embroidered skirt, pairing it with a pale jade blouse—modest and cautious. She knew well of that Zhao young lady, who loved nothing more than pink skirts and believed no one in the world could wear pink as prettily and delicately as she did. If anyone else wore it and looked bad, she’d only make a snide remark or two; but if someone looked better, her glare could cut like a blade.

In her previous life, Liu Chuyan first met her at nine years old, dressed in a pink doll’s outfit. Liu Chuyan was already pretty, and pink made her look like a peach blossom, lively and charming. By contrast, Zhao Fifth Miss wore a similar style, but resembled a village girl. Enraged, Zhao Fifth Miss stamped her feet and tore Liu Chuyan’s clothes. Back then, Liu Chuyan was quick-tempered too; she grabbed back, leaving a bloody scratch on Zhao’s forehead, which even now could only be concealed by bangs. Thus, a rift was formed between them.

Zhao Fifth Miss was named Jiali, and indeed fancied herself a beauty. Her temperament hadn’t changed since childhood—she bullied the weak and feared the strong, never dared provoke Han Shuwei, but openly mocked Liu Chuyan and schemed against her in secret. But such people were easy to handle, and Liu Chuyan never worried about her.

It was Madam Zhao who was more troublesome—older than Madam Han by a few years, but always at odds with her, pretending to be close friends in public. She had gone to Jiming Temple just to tell Madam Han that Lord Wukang was keeping a mistress outside. Madam Han, lacking composure, couldn’t bear being mocked; after a few words from Madam Zhao, she fainted from anger.

Today, Madam Zhao had arrived early—not at Jiming Temple, but at Wukang’s mansion, and at such a critical time. Surely she came to gossip about Han Ruoyu. These madams loved to provoke others for fun; the angrier someone got, the more delighted they became, and afterwards would feign concern with “Oh, I only told you for your own good.” Liu Chuyan found it all absurd.

Madam Zhao had once ruined her, casting her into utter ruin—Liu Chuyan could never forgive her. Yet now, she could not show it. After all, at this moment, Madam Zhao merely looked down on her, not yet openly humiliated her in front of everyone. As for Zhao Jiali, that was another matter.

“Cousin.” Songling, hearing that Madam Zhao was visiting with her daughter, knew there was no need to prepare supper and hurried over after changing into a clean dress. “You’ll dine at the eldest madam’s tonight.”

Liu Chuyan nodded. “When we go to the eldest madam, keep your head down and hold your breath. Say nothing, and act as though you hear nothing, whatever others say. Remember this.”

“Yes, I understand.” Songling knew the eldest madam had worn a sour face all day and still hadn’t vented her anger. Now that Madam Zhao had come, nothing good was to be expected. If she drew the eldest madam’s attention, she’d likely be made the scapegoat, and Songling was not about to be that victim.

Liu Chuyan went out, passing through the hanging flower gate and along the covered corridor to the eldest madam’s chambers. Unexpectedly, Madam Zhao had already taken Jiali to visit the old matron; the eldest madam and Han Zhen’s wife had gone as well.

Qingmian hadn’t expected them to move so quickly, so she led them again to the Quiet Heart Residence.

Liu Chuyan took a roundabout path, and by the time she reached Quiet Heart Residence, the drama had already begun. At the door, she heard Madam Zhao’s voice, alternately loud and soft, as she began recounting Lord Wukang’s scandalous deeds.

“Matron, I shouldn’t be gossiping today. But Lord Wukang and my husband are fellow disciples, close as brothers despite their age difference. He’s done such things, and my husband can’t bear it, but can’t exactly go and scold him. You’ve been at Jiming Temple for days, so surely haven’t heard about this. I’ll be the villain and tell you, and remind dear Sister Hong, so that when he returns you can advise him well—never to repeat such things. After all, he’s out suppressing bandits, not enjoying himself.”

The old matron had taken some pills on the way, and after returning drank her medicine and had Yunling press her temples for a stick of incense’s time, easing her headache. Now, with Madam Zhao repeatedly emphasizing the disgraceful nature of what she was about to say, her temples began to ache again.

But seeing Madam Zhao’s determination, there was no stopping her. The old matron nodded, signaling her to speak quickly.

The eldest madam knew nothing good would come of this, but couldn’t bring herself to drive them out. Seeing Liu Chuyan lift the curtain and enter, she hastily called her over, her enthusiasm almost excessive. “Ah, Chuyan, you’re here! Come, take Fifth Miss out to play for a while. Zhen and his wife, you two go out as well—don’t just stand here.”

Liu Chuyan nodded, about to lead Zhao Jiali away, when Han Zhen spoke up: “Mother, Madam Zhao has something to say concerning Father—how can I, his eldest son, not be present? As for cousin, she’s hardly an outsider—why shouldn’t she hear it? No need to drive anyone away.”

“I’m not driving anyone away, I just thought you young people might find it dull cooped up in here.” The eldest madam truly feared Lord Wukang’s scandal would be heard by too many, losing face, and wanted to send them all out. But Han Zhen saw through her intentions and exposed them mercilessly in front of the old matron and Madam Zhao, leaving her red-faced.

Han Zhen scoffed, unconvinced, but was silenced by Rong’s fierce glare. Rong understood these things well, knowing it concerned the reputation of Wukang’s household. Though she looked down on the place, she was married into it, and had to protect her own dignity.

Zhao Jiali was eager to see the Han family’s embarrassment and refused to leave, glancing at Liu Chuyan’s expressionless face without moving.

Seeing her unmoved, Liu Chuyan went to the old matron’s side, handed her a cup of hot tea, and quietly settled in to listen.

The eldest madam was nearly grinding her teeth to dust, but could only force out a resentful concession: “Sister Jiang, these youngsters care about their elders; it wouldn’t be right to dismiss their concern. Go on, speak.”

Madam Zhao had expected this—after all, the legitimate son and stepmother were at odds, and she feigned a smile, turning to the old matron. “Matron, don’t be angry at what I say; your health matters most.”

The old matron grew increasingly impatient and raised her hand. “Su Sheng, speak plainly. My body is strong enough to bear it. Besides, I’ve eaten more salt than you’ve eaten rice—there’s little I haven’t seen. Speak, speak.”

Madam Zhao saw her brows knit and furrowed her own. “Matron, Lord Wukang has been out suppressing bandits for three months, yet no real news has come—only that both sides suffer casualties, but it’s better than before and no longer threatens Jinling, which counts as good news. However, my husband has contacts in Shanxi, and they report that Lord Wukang has taken three concubines out there—oh, not even concubines, just three unnamed women.” As she spoke, she glanced at the eldest madam, whose powdered face turned even paler, as if stricken with illness.

Liu Chuyan knew of this already and felt nothing, only watching the old matron, hoping she wouldn’t be angered into collapse. But as the matron herself said, she was used to storms and stories; hearing it from Madam Zhao was just another vexing tale, only this time the protagonist was her own son.

Madam Zhao, seeing the old matron unmoved, continued, “Matron, Sister Hong, you don’t know who those three women are, which is why you look so calm. When I heard, my eyes nearly popped out. One is a widow, one a courtesan, and one a farmer’s daughter. Supposedly, each is more beautiful than the last, serving Lord Wukang so well he’s living like a god, almost neglecting his duties.”

Liu Chuyan could clearly sense the old matron’s anger rising, her breath growing heavy, but she was the sort to suppress it in an instant. Suddenly, there was a tearing sound from the right—Han eldest madam had twisted her handkerchief in fury until it ripped. Standing behind her, Han Zhen and Rong Mingxiu were stunned, their feelings mixed and complex. If it were someone else, they’d have laughed it off, but the one who’d done such a thing was Lord Wukang—their father, the master of this noble household.

“Matron, please don’t be angry, nor Sister Hong. Really, it’s not his fault. He’s a man, after all; such things are inevitable when away from home, as long as he returns properly. But you must be wary of those women—one of them is already a month pregnant, though I’m not sure whether it’s the courtesan or the widow…”

Madam Zhao’s affected speech was abruptly interrupted by a thud—Han eldest madam collapsed backward, her head striking the embroidery stool. The maids rushed in to check, finding her face ashen, unconscious.

Liu Chuyan sighed inwardly and remained still; this wasn’t her place to intervene—she’d leave it to Rong Mingxiu.

At this crucial moment, Grand Madam Rong displayed the commanding presence of the main branch, raising her voice to direct the maids to seat the eldest madam, pinch her philtrum, and when that failed, summon the matrons to carry her to the east wing, immediately calling for a physician.

Madam Zhao’s purpose achieved, she glanced at the old matron, who remained calm with eyes shut, clearly unwilling to engage further. Madam Zhao managed a sheepish smile. “Matron, I never expected Sister Hong would faint from anger. Luckily, the eldest grandson’s wife has spirit and composure, handling everything smoothly. But I’m just an eyesore and a hindrance here, so I’ll take my leave.”

The old matron’s eyelids flickered, but she still refused to look at her, only opening her mouth to speak in a hoarse voice: “Chuyan, see Madam Zhao out.”

“Yes.” Liu Chuyan walked over to Madam Zhao and Zhao Jiali, gesturing politely.

Madam Zhao didn’t mind, pinching her fingers and swaying her hips as she crossed the threshold. Zhao Jiali, full of schadenfreude, squeezed her eyes in mockery.

Liu Chuyan kept her head down and held her breath, refusing to stoop to their level, escorting them out.

Zhao Jiali tried to provoke her, but receiving no response, soon lost interest and strode out with a huff.

“Jiali, you’re a young lady—mind your manners!” Boarding the carriage, Madam Zhao slapped Zhao Jiali’s arm without much reproach in her tone; in fact, she was quite pleased. She had sparred with Madam Han for years, but today was her true victory. After all, her own husband was even worse than Lord Wukang. While Lord Wukang’s household had only two concubines and two daughters, Lord Zhao had taken nine concubines, with three sons and four daughters, plus her own son and daughter, making nine in all. The saying goes, “The dragon has nine sons, each different,” and indeed, Zhao’s children were all troublesome, though equally vexing.

Fortunately, her son was accomplished, having married the second legitimate daughter of Marquis Enchang’s family, and last year promoted to the Prefect of Shuntian. He was only twenty-eight—the youngest ever since the founding of Great Shun, a testament to his ability.